


Two Positives Make A Negative

by TerminusVerso



Series: Collection of Oddities [8]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, M/M, Mild Swearing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Reincarnation, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28858254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminusVerso/pseuds/TerminusVerso
Summary: Error, the self-proclaimed Destroy of Worlds, was a pain in the Multiverse's side for centuries; An unfortunate series of events brings about a drastic change in his standing amongst the Stars. The destroyer now finds himself in the awkward position of being reincarnated as the offspring of his two worst enemies- Ink and Dream.Will the past be forgiven? Will Homicide swoop in at the last second and commit grand theft latte? Only time will tell.
Relationships: Cross & Dream, Ink/Dream, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: Collection of Oddities [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936051
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	1. Troubles In Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Another story pulled from my book "Collection of Oddities," so it will be easier for others to locate in the future.

The Multiverse: A seemingly amaranthine realm filled to the brim with numerous variations of alternate universes, where time itself fluctuates - running either faster or slower depending on location - and great dangers exist. Nightmare, the enigmatic 404 and Infected, X-Gaster, Fatal_Error- These dark beings were the most notable villains of the Multiverse. Even if some (Fatal, 404, and Infected) never stepped into the spotlight and made themselves known. That, though, didn't mean the villains refrained from stirring up all kinds of trouble. They caused many a problem, from killing to destroying to spreading fear across the infinite realm. Why? The "Good Sanses" started fighting back more grievously. Without mercy. These "Warriors of the Stars" began killing off those who opposed righteousness. And their resolve had been proven.

Among the list of deplorable monsters, one was missing- crossed out and removed from the equation. This scoundrel was no ordinary villain; He was the worst of the worst, a psychopath none wished to meet or earn the ire of. The monster- Legends say he dwelled in an illimitable plane of vast whiteness, which caused all those who enter to become as insane as him. Or be eternally trapped in blue spider-like strings. Others spoke of his frightening form: A skeletal figure with pitch-black bones, only highlighted by the occasional shade of red and yellow, and a cloak of flickering symbols. And, his voice- It was something of the darkest, most dreadful nightmares. It glitched and shifted like a crashing PC's demonic howl. This monster was known as Error, The Destroyer of Worlds.

And- _**H E W A S D E A D .**_

The everlasting sunset of the Doodlesphere stretched far beyond the island's boundaries. Its' various orange, yellow, pink, and purple hues colored the limitless sky. Some shades reflected onto the numerous floating pages filling the air; Thus, creating a beautiful mix of colors on the white sheets. Soft, wispy clouds crept along the expanse. Most were white- soaking in the peaceful colors around them. Though, a rare chartreuse or cerise cloud did appear every once and a while. The scenery was magnificent. Unparalleled by anything in the Multiverse. Dream, however, thought it would be even better with his lover by his side. _ **  
**_

Ink, the protector of AUs, _his husband_ , hardly returned home nowadays. He was always busy- with this and that, or et cetera. The members of the Star Council demanded his attention for the smallest of issues. Chara stole Classic's slippers? Call Ink. Toilet clogged in Plumbertale? Better summon Ink, because, for whatever inane reason, he could fix a toilet better than a plumber. It's the worst joke ever. How many plumbers did it take to fix a toilet? None- because not even a whole AU of them was capable of doing it! That wasn't the worst of it, either. The Star Council - everyone aside from Swap Sanses, as they closed themselves off from the rest of the Multiverse once a majority of AUs chose to kill 'villains' - practically ordered Ink to hunt down major threats. Like his brother. _Nightmare_.

Dream sighed, resting both hands on his swollen stomach. The place of which housed a little miracle of life. His son, Palette Roller. And... Ink's? Maybe. Honestly, he wasn't sure anymore. With his husband barely in his life, how could he expect him to make time to be a father to Palette? Especially when he didn't make time to be with his husband, Dream.

When was the last time they went on a date or shared the same bed? Or hung out together, in general?

 _Too long ago_ , Dream thought. Cross seemed to be more prominent in his and the baby's life than Ink. The other did not count as a "Bad Sans." Not anymore. And certainly not to Dream. Throughout every trimester, the monochrome-garbed skeleton had supported him; Made him feel safe when the worst monsters were out to kill him while he was weak. Did every trivial task his lover should have done without complaint. Offered him a shoulder to cry on when days were tough. Made sure there was food in the house since Dream sparsely went out. Cross was a fantastic friend. A friend Dream didn't know he needed. Today, however, the knife-wielding warrior left on his journey to find a way to revive X-tale. Meaning the Guardian of Positivity was alone once more.

With a frown, the yellow-clad skeleton slowly waddled his way back to the empty island home. On the outside, it appeared to be no different than a generic Sans and Papyrus house; the interior was vastly larger and littered with clutter and useless items. Used papers, worn paintbrushes, a plethora of odd trinkets from other universes- Nearly anything and everything conceivable could be located somewhere in the building. Thankfully, Ink's absence allowed Dream to organize it all.

He gently pushed open the unlocked door as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him. After closing and locking it, Dream instantly headed for the hideous abomination Ink called a "couch." Its' plaid and polkadot exterior was offensive to look at- But, right now, a certain sleepy skeleton could careless. He just wanted a nap. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the tacky furnishing and pulled the equally ghastly quilt off the back before settling down. His frown deepened as a discomforting lump dug into his spine.

_Ink, whenever the heck you get back, you're sleeping on the couch for as long as you stay._

Somewhere in the Multiverse, a paintbrush-wielding skeleton shuddered, feeling as though a great force threatened his livelihood. A green hourglass and blue refresh symbol spun in his eye sockets. He gazed at the forested expanse before him and questioned, "Who did I cross this time?" 


	2. Dark Horizon

Dreams, slumber's either dreaded or revered illusions, flashed by in an instant; visions of happiness soon vanished into ominous warnings. Dream ran. He ran as far as his aching feet could take him. However, it was futile. The darkness- _Negativity_ chased after him in the amaranthine black expanse. Its' oozing tendrils reached out, trying to wrap around his frame and drag him into its suffocating enmity. The Guardian of Positivity awkwardly dodged. Fighting back was out of the question, as both his arms were too busy shielding his middle - _his son_ \- from attacks. Continuing forward, the yellow-clad skeleton spared a glance at the sinister foe. Another cirrus struck while his attention was diverted. He glanced back, unable to evade it in time; Wholly out of options as it smacked into his body. Then, suddenly Dream was falling- descending through a vertical tunnel of darkness at high speeds.

" _Gah!_ " He toppled off the couch, hitting the floor with a light _thud_. The dastardly-designed quilt hugged his frame and made it nigh impossible to move. After some wiggling around, though, the pregnant skeleton was able to free himself; The offending object was thrown on to a couch cushion. Groaning, Dream slowly pulled himself up. Then he promptly sat down and rubbed his aching spine.

 _It was all a dream- No, a_ nightmare _. I haven't had one of those in a while._

He shuddered at the thought. Why now of all times did such a thing happen? The positive aura from his little Palette combined with his own ousted them. Perhaps his brother was up to mischief? Though, wasn't Ink taking care of that? The Star Council commanded him to find and eliminate all evil forces. And- Well, Dream still objected to the decision. He wanted Nightmare to live. To get better. To mend their broken relationship. (Assuming those things were still possible.) That couldn't be done if either of them were dead. But what could he do? A majority of votes were in favor of the act; Very few disagreed, and even less disagreed enough to make their displeasure known. He had been one of those minor few (along with the Swap Sanses), but, considering his current situation, he learned to keep his mouth shut rather quickly. Dream didn't want to endanger Palette further. As some monsters knew how to hold a grudge and hold it well. Like a weapon they finely polish until the time to strike was near. Thus, why he did not leave the Doodlesphere often.

_**H e h a d a t a r g e t o n h i s b a c k .  
** _

Nightmare also had a target on his back. A large one. Not to mention, there was a high chance the dark king did not know about the "evil purge" going on.

_What if I-_

A slight smile graced his jaws. He had an idea. It was risky, but if it worked, then it would be worth it.

"Just... one last chance. I know he can be a better person if he tries. Plus, if it works out, you'll be able to meet your uncle and spend time with him and so on. _And_ I'll get my brother back." Dream whispered, softly, gently rubbing a hand on his stomach. 


	3. To Frosthell's Battlefield

As suspected, Nightmare was up to his usual shenanigans and dastardly deeds- except reaching an all-time low nigh inconceivable for the Guardian of Negativity. Both the affected AU and his location within it could be pinpointed with shocking ease. That in and of itself was a terrifying realization. The self-proclaimed King of Darkness always - without failure or a single mishap - prevented Dream from sensing him as much as possible. To abandon that strategical advantage- Nightmare either had to of become enraged beyond care or decided to no longer hold back in battle. Or, believed Dream had finally given up on chasing after the shadow of his older brother. For all the yellow-clad skeleton knew, the malicious monster and his goons may believe him to be dead, which was a plausible possibility. His universal absence could not have gone unnoticed by anyone. 

Not that it mattered right now; There were more important affairs to attend to, like giving his brother a chance to be in Palette's life. A chance to make a change for the better. One last chance to prove his guideless path was the one he wished to follow. And, in the event it proved useless to persuade him, Dream would leave him be- give up on reuniting with the silvery-boned skeleton he once called brother. 

Palette was his priority now. As such, Dream could not chase after a fanciful notion and risk his child's health and safety in the process. (Ink already did enough of that for both of them: not being around to defend Dream and their unborn child when needed, running off on inane quests at the drop of a hat, vanishing for weeks/months on end. Not to mention, making Dream question why he married the artist in the first place.) His precious little miracle deserved a parent that would put him above all else. Dream wanted to become that parent; would do anything and everything to achieve said goal. Success was the only option.

Hence, why the skeleton now quested to locate some light but sturdy armor before embarking to the afflicted AU. His usual battle attire - while not only too small due to his size - was crafted with long-range combat in mind. Which, in hindsight, should have been rectified ages ago, as Dream always ended up on the front lines alongside Ink and Blue. How many injuries could he have avoided by changing it to something more suitable for close-range combat? A majority. His naive beliefs also brought about unnecessary pain. Nightmare would hurt him, no matter how much he wished otherwise. 

Mercy did not exist. Not even between brothers. 

Exactly why Dream decided to proceed with caution. Before - during a time when an adorable little soul wasn't growing inside him - it did not matter; A millennium of fighting taught him how to take a hit. Whether a punch, kick, slash, magic attack, etc.- Dream could handle it. Palette, however, was frail and tiny. A single errant strike would dust the baby before he was even born.

The Guardian of Positivity refused to allow that. 

While rummaging through his own disorganized wardrobe, Dream finally found the sought armaments: a silky, canary yellow scarf that added plus fifteen defense, light leather armor with mythril plating on the interior, and sturdy pair of boots. Perfect. For its purpose, at least. All in all, the outfit looked like it came straight out of RPGtale; It didn't exactly scream hero either. The dark-hued leather pieces were far from welcoming in design. That, coupled with the ominous aura they exuded, made Dream seem more like a yellow-scarfed highwayman than anything else. 

With a little difficulty, he changed switched his cozy garb for the combat-ready armor. Luck appeared to be on his side, as the outfit was just big enough to fit on him without being uncomfortable. The discarded clothes were tossed in the nearby laundry basket. 

_Now that that is settled, I need a weapon._

It would be foolish, if not suicidal, to confront Nightmare and his gang unarmed. What options were there? The light bow? No, his current size made the weapon awkward to use. A staff? That could work- however, Dream was very out of practice. The sparkly pink pistol Ink had given to him as a joke on their wedding anniversary? Not his style; He wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole, anyways. That left... a sword. Cross, the Multiverse's finest swordsman, gave it to him awhile back, claiming he needed to learn new ways to defend himself. And Dream did- He trained both day and night, whenever Cross had the opportunity to teach him. As it turned out, swordsmanship was his second-best skill. Archery was his first. 

Dream smirked and made his way over to the blade. The simple silvery weapon hung just beside his (and Ink's) bed on a small sword rack. In design, Cross' giant sword dwarfed the modest falchion and put its creator to shame. However, he rather enjoyed the simplicity. Especially after witnessing all the atrocities Ink had created in the name of fashion or creativity. A steady hand carefully plucked the blade from its' resting place and affixed it to his side. With that final piece, he was ready to face his brother for the first time after a year of absence. 

Heavy snowfall shrouded the landscape as a fierce blizzard raged on in the lands surrounding Snowdin. Snowflakes whipped around in the air like a chilled fog; Preventing the town's residents and visitors from seeing an inch in front of them. The gale's howling echoed throughout the large, forest-esque hollows. Almost deafeningly. Dream trudged across the landscape, fighting against the winds- which, for whatever unfortunate reason, were blowing in the direction opposite of the one he needed to go in. His bones rattled due to the frozen air and icy winds. Cold seeped through his armor. The thin mythril plates inside slowly sapped any residual heat out of the leather. Thus, proving that while it was the better defensive choice, it was not favorable in this sort of climate. Dream shivered as a harsh chill mercilessly nipped at his body. Silently, he couldn't help but wonder if this - going to confront Nightmare - was a mistake. 

The ill-clothed skeleton journeyed for what felt like an hour. Snow continued to pour relentlessly from the sky, obscuring patches of ice and deathly drops. Dream managed to avoid them, though, slipped on icy spots occasionally; catching himself before any real damage could be done. It was disconcerting. For multiple reasons. Firstly, the negativity of the AU was weakening him. (And running around in the blizzard certainly did not help conserve energy. Alas, as much as he wished he could teleport into town, the influx of negative emotions there prevented him from doing so. Yet another downside to being the Guardian of Positivity.) Secondly, the leather-mythril armor proved to be more of a hindrance in the weather than anything else. It was not built to handle this type of weather. If Dream could go back in time and slap himself for choosing this armor, he would. Twenty times over. 

As he shivered and traversed the harsh environment, a warm light glistened beyond the sheer white veil. Its' yellow-orange hue inviting any chilled traveler to stop by and escape the cold. _Oh, thank the stars_ , he nearly exclaimed aloud upon sighting it. Soon he would be out of this God-awful weather. Likely the town: Snowdin, which was where Nightmare and his gang were. 

_I hope my plan works._

With slight trepidation, Dream stepped past the snowy barrier and inspected the little town. A magical forcefield surrounded the area, preventing the unrelenting storm from affecting the townsfolk; meaning, the wind and snow's bone-chilling bite not longer nipped at his bones. He felt relief at that. _However_ , the state of Snowdin was far from comforting. Dusty clothes and ashen trails littered the ground. Four identical sets of footprints led through the carnage, leading any who follow directly to the causes of said carnage. He took a step forward and then another before pausing. _I'm really doing this, aren't I?_ A hand found its way onto his armored stomach. _It... It is not too late to back out; To go back home where it is warm and safe._

A frown settled on Dream's skull. His yellow-tinted eyelights drifted down until the hand and protected middle was in view. This plan- was it a good idea? If things went south, would he be able to defend himself and Palette? _  
_

_But... if I don't do this now, will I ever get another chance to make amends?_

No, the likelihood of another opportunity like this was slim to none. Sanses, Papyruses, Charas, Frisks- Nigh the whole Multiverse was out for the blood of the wicked, and they would stop at nothing to get it. And, unfortunately, Nightmare was next on their hit list. To ignore this chance - pass on it without giving a second thought - would only bring about regret later. _  
_

Dream nodded to himself. That was that; His decision was set. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, gazing resolutely in the direction Nightmare went in. _It's time I finally spoke with my brother._


	4. Death of a Hope

The Guardian of Positivity followed the death-littered path with easy - though appalled by the torment of others - immediately, spotting the skeleton who dared to plague his subconscious. Nightmare: His opposite, the Guardian of Negativity and the one he called brother. Dark sludge coated Nightmare's bones and created eight deadly tendrils on his back. The extra appendages were sharpened, poised to strike. Blood and dust of monsters/humans painted them in a sickening red-grey. Dream's resolve faltered at the sight (not to mention, his queasy stomach), but then he remembered why he was doing this- to give his brother a chance to know his nephew. He stepped forward. Given his poor luck, a twig snapped beneath his feet, alerting Nightmare to his presence. Dream froze. Nightmare spun on his heels, visible eyelight ablaze with power. Its cyan hue cast light onto the other's face, yet failed to rid the innate darkness. The dark guardian's tendrils began to flail in discontent as he sized him up; A scowl soon settled on his skull. Dream, on the other hand, struggled to keep his expression neutral. 

Dust, Killer, and Horror suddenly appeared beside their leader, weapons drawn and prepared to attack. He nearly jolted in shock; however, kept his composure. How did they get there? The lack of magic in the air indicated that teleportation could not be the cause. Then how? Dream internally shuddered and thought, _Their stealth has gotten better over the past year. I should keep a close eye on them. Stars only knows if they will take the opportunity for a sneak attack._

The Guardian of Negativity stepped forward and hissed, "Well, well, well- Look who we have here, a foolish dreamer ready for a fight." A sneer crept on to his face, and his malicious eyelight examined the form of the missing Star Sans. Dark tendrils wiggled behind him in displeasure. "I see your year of absence has not been kind to you, _guardian_. Such a shame; I highly doubt you'll successfully dodge a single attack with all that fat you're lugging around."

The dark guardian's followers chuckled, darkly, ever-so-slowly working their way around Dream until they surrounded him from all sides. And there they stood, poised and ready to attack at a moment's notice- Like a pack of wolves waiting to strike. Worry weaved its way into his soul. It seemed the team had grown more strategic during his leave as well. Perhaps Error's untimely demise motivated them to prevent a second incident. Regardless, he kept his eyelights locked on Nightmare. With a raised eyebrow, Dream shot the dark skeleton an unimpressed look. 

"Poking fun at my weight? Your standards for spreading negativity have truly fallen, Nightmare." He said, thoroughly disappointed in the childish jeering. Nightmare had more elegance and grace; immature insults and mockery was beneath him. Usually. "Though, regardless of your 'hobbies,' that is not why I'm here today."

Nightmare laughed- laughed and laughed, as if someone told him the world's greatest joke. While he bent over and clutched his stomach, his tendrils waved uncontrollably. Dream remained still, wondering if it was that inconceivable. That he couldn't have other motives for visiting his brother. After a minute-long fit of hysterical laughter, Nightmare reeled in his emotions and righted himself.

"Ha! You expect me to believe _that_. I'm no fool, _Dream_." Chuckling under his breath, the Guardian of Negativity continued. "So, what then? Cat got your tongue? Got tired of repeating the same script over and over and over again? No heartfelt, hypocritical speeches about being a better person, or pleading and begging for me to be your brother again? Ha, why I never thought I'd see the day! The goody two shoes dreamer is finally embracing his dark side." Nightmare said it all with hatred in his eyelight. 

"Nightmare, will you give me a chance to-"

"No! I'm sick and tired of listening to your fake morals and hypocrisy. It's high time you listened to _me_ for once. _You_ \- Everything you've ever represented is all a lie! Positivity. Happy emotions. It's all bullshit! You could never be the guardian of any of those things when all you ever do is spread prejudice and injustice." Dream flinched back. However, Nightmare continued his rage-filled rant. "Like back at the village. Because of _you_ , I was ostracized and loathed by everyone we were sworn to protect; To the point, they tried to end me on multiple occasions because they couldn't handle a little negativity. I should have known it would happen once more. That your naive, incompetent, foolish ways would never change. You are incapable of learning from your mistakes or the past. And, it seems, that Error is your second victim."

_Second victim? Wait, does he think I-_

Dream jumped at the chance to defend himself, neutral expression involuntarily slipping into a scowl. "I'll have you know I played no part in his death! Brutally killing a monster with problems they can not control is a low I am _not_ willing to stoop down to; You know this, Nightmare." _  
_

The other chuckled lowly, maliciously; His stance quickly changed. Dark tendrils sharpened, growing stiff and positioned outward for a better strike. His cyan eyelight burned even brighter. Shifting into an offensive stance, Nightmare all but growled, "Your right. I do. But that doesn't change that fact you're married to the bastard who did it and did nothing to stop him!"

_Ink killed Error?!_

How? Why? Killing Error- Certainly, the artist would never consider that a possibility! Ink loved him just as much as Dream (if not even more). That was just- just impossible. _Unbelievable_. _  
_

"What are you tal-"

Without so much as an " _Attack the fool!"_ or " _Take care of that pesky Star Sans!"_ , the surrounding enemies charged forward and began to attack. _So much for a peaceful chat between brothers_ , Dream thought bitterly. He swiftly drew his sword and blocked right as Killer slashed at him with a knife. Then sidestepped a series of bone attacks from Dust before jumping out of the way of Horror's axe. A sharp slash to the arm from a tendril caused him to fallback further. For a while, the five skeletons danced a deadly tango. Swapping attacks with each other, dodging and blocking blows, using dirty tricks to get an advantage- The group of four were doing everything in their power to defeat Dream. Yet he held his ground, yielded to no attack. Taking time to train with Cross proved to be a great decision. Though, even the best warrior was not invulnerable during combat. 


	5. No More Mercy

The battle in Snowdin raged on, causing copious amounts of damage to the environment. Slash marks from Horror's deathly sharp axe tore through the ground, buildings, and trees. Burnt, damp earth sat where (narrowly dodged) blaster beams scorched the land, releasing an abrasive scent; its two components being ash and ozone. Spear-tipped, blue and white bone attacks protruded from the surrounding surfaces. Some had the barest hint of red on their sharp tips. As time progressed, Nightmare and his followers grew more and more frustrated, attacking frequently and somewhat desperately. Dream wasn't fairing too well either. The Guardian of Positivity lightly panted, exhaustion growing with the frustration his foes' held. A yellow flush colored his skull, and his movements were becoming slower and slower. His once spotless armor now had deep gashes with blood-like marrow seeping forth; the only pristine spot being the area that covered his belly.

A pointy tendril stabbed at Dream's side, missing by a millimeter as its target stepped out of the way of yet another knife slash. He warily eyed the snarl on Nightmare's skull while attempting to keep an eye on his other three assailants at the same time. Horror stood a foot to his back right, axe raising for another swing. Dust, on the other hand, positioned himself at a nearby building (Grillby's) and lit his left eyelight ablaze with purple magic. Bones burst around Dream's feet, likely an effort to keep him still while Horror attacks. The flushed skeleton leapt forward, narrowly clearing the obstacle, and turned to counter the axe with his sword. The distinct sound of leather ripping echoed through the air, followed by a stinging pain emanated from behind. Dream hissed in discomfort. However, his hands did not falter as he blocked Horror's blow. 

Sparing the opposite direction a glance, he saw none other than Killer standing behind him. A smug grin laid on the sneaky skeleton's jaws, and blood dripped from his blade. Dream shuddered at the malice inside his empty eye sockets. 

_Damn it! When did they get so good? I can hardly keep up. Perhaps it's time I consider withdrawing- make a distraction and getting the hell out of here. Nightmare has made his point more than clear. He doesn't want to talk_ or _listen, and I can't make him._

A bitter part of the guardian's mind added, _This wouldn't be a problem if I had Ink with me._ _  
_

A frown marred his face. Loathing boiled at the fact his subconscious seemed determined to bring up their failing marriage. Dream hastily began to shoo the thoughts away, becoming distracted enough to take a punch directly to the jaw. The sword, luckily, stayed in hand as the force knocked him over. He groaned, landing on a barren patch. His nasal cavity wrinkled as a dreadful scent assaulted it. The stench of ozone alone was enough to make Dream's stomach turn, but together with that horrid ashy, burnt smell (and being so close to the source), he nearly vomited. Choking back a gag, he quickly pushed himself off the ground and jumped away. A second later, twenty bones shot out of the earth; likely would have impaled him if he hadn't reacted so swiftly. Dream wheezed, silently cursing his weakened body.

Thereafter, the next wave in the assault commenced without giving a moment to rest. Ten-foot tall bones launch out of the ground. They stood in a row on the guardian's left and right, creating a clear path between him and Nightmare. Dream briefly pondered whether or not the trio planned on herding him towards Nightmare. Unfortunately, he soon reached a conclusion, as the Guardian of Negativity barreled down the path with all eight tendrils readied for battle. His soul clenched- heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and bones slightly rattling. Yellow, pinprick eyelights frantically searched for an escape. His magic reserves were dangerously low. Teleportation would be very risky and foolish in this state. It seemed fleeing wasn't an option either. Dust, Killer, and Horror blocked the path behind him. Each wore a manic grin. Glee and anticipation radiated off of them; further prodding proved they were excited that this game of cat and mouse would be ending soon. And in their favor. 

Dream considered what few options he had: Surrendering (As if that would do any good; His four attackers sought dust), holding his ground, forcing his way past the deadly trio, and facing his opposite head-on. None were exactly favorable. Or liable to provide a semi-decent outcome. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of calling his supposed husband. Despite everything (the failed summonings and ignored phone calls), the pregnant skeleton kept a little vial of ink in his inventory for emergencies. It was tempting. He could easily pull the vessel out and smash it on the ground to summon the artist. Yet Dream doubted Ink would answer the summons. Too many had failed in the past for him to trust the other to come to his aid. Meaning, he needed to somehow weasel out of this mess by himself. 

_Nightmare was right about one thing,_ Dream thought while glancing down at his belly, _my foolishness my very well be the end of you, my dear Palette._

_However, my own shortcomings will not end you today!_

The Guardian of Positivity quelled his rattling and replaced any fear in his expression with a determined gaze and grim frown, defensively raising the falchion he held. His tendril-wielding counterpart sprang forth, slash and hacking with the biological weapons. Dream evaded each attack while using his sword to block any unavoidable ones. As a mucky appendage struck against metal, another swung in front of him, forcing him to take a step back. The motion repeated again and again until Dream realized he was being driven directly to the other three evil skeletons. Dust, Killer, and Horror had prepared their magic and material weapons, waiting for the opportune time to attack all at once. They looked ready to pounce at any given instant. So, instead of allowing the next slash to push him back further, he whirled the falchion to the side he knew Nightmare's next attack would aim for. 

The blade's edge sliced clean through the approaching tendril. Black, viscous goo spurt from the flailing limb as its severed tip landed on the ground, limp and useless. Stray splatters hit Dream's armor, causing him to grimace. Meanwhile, his opponent released a howl of rage and agony, staring wide-eyed at the amputated body part. Their onlookers appeared shocked by the sudden injury. The guardian couldn't blame them. Never before had he inflicted such a grievous wound on Nightmare. Not even when the other was doing his damnedest to kill Dream and his fellow guardians- Unfortunately, for the dark king, times change. Dream found something he refused to lose; something to protect and fight for. If his "brother" wanted a real fight, then he would get one.

_No more holding back._


	6. Destruction I

The falchion rose into the air to prepare for another strike. A brief glint flickered across the blade's length once Dream's stance brought it to peak height and reappeared again when the weapon hastily descended with an audible _swish_ , which sounded throughout the battlefield as the sharpened metal sailed toward its next target. Its aim stayed steady and precise, like that of a well-aimed arrow. Until it didn't. A rather sudden, excruciating discomfort bloomed in the armor-clad guardian's abdomen, causing the color to flee his face and sheets of yellow-tinted sweat to form at the base of his skull. His sword-wielding hand began to violently tremble halfway through the slicing motion, sending a shock wave that nearly knocked the weapon into the icy snow through the hilt and up the blade; And, unfortunately, led to the swing missing. Metal met snowy earth as the attack swerved past Nightmare's dark tendril, leaving it unscathed.

 _Stars of the damned_ , Dream's mind instantly supplied after breaking through the shock spawned by the jabbing pain.

His eyelights barely held shape due to the agonizing pang, and fat yellow droplets of magic gathered around the corners of his eye sockets. Each breath released came out uneven. Hitched and quickened to the point he sounded like a wounded balloon filled with gravel. Fighting down tears plus forcing his breath to level became a daunting task in and of itself, spectacularly failing when the added sting produced by his other injuries decided to rear its ugly head. His jaws clenched to prevent a wet sob from escaping. All the while, the hand shakily grasping the falchion tightened its hold around the blade's handle.

He drew the weapon close, holding it in a defensive position in front of himself, and prayed it would be enough to block any subsequent attacks. Then, using his free hand, Dream investigated the thick leather and metal armoring his stomach for breaches, rips, and the like. The frantic prodding revealed worrying results. Nothing laid there; no deep gash or scratch. In fact, there was still no discernible damage of any kind. Unsurprising, considering how he focused on protecting that area above everywhere else. But pain and knowledge of the afflicted region brought forth silent panic. An emotion exceedingly tricky to hide from his closest opponent, Nightmare.

 _Okay, okay. It's fine. Probably just Palette kicking or something._ The armor-clad skeleton thought (or more like prayed), attempting to calm himself with (false) reassurance, not even registering that the unoccupied arm/hand had long-since come to rest protectively around the baby's temporary shelter.

_Nevertheless, I really should wrap this up quickly and get the hell out of here._

Dream's eyelights raised to study the dark, oozing monster. (When had he stopped watching the other?) A blazing cyan eye gazed back. The malice-filled orb locked onto the younger guardian's form, analyzing- taking in the sight of his scrunched brow and renewed trembling before a wicked grin stretched across its owner's face. Like the way a cat would smirk if their favorite meal fell right into their paws. Blackish-purple tendrils poised themselves for an attack, practically wiggling in anticipation. The Guardian of Positivity could only speculate how much it would hurt to be skewered by the bunch. Needless to say, he did _not_ want to find out. His feet shifted, slowly edging him away from the other while keeping the sword in front to separate them. However, the action sputtered to a halt as a sharp spasm appeared in his gut and forced him to stop himself from dropping to the ground and curling into a tight ball.

_Palette, sweetheart, now is not the time for this!_

Pinching his brows, Dream stumbled back as far as he was willing to allow himself to without further leading himself toward the trio behind who had yet to attempt to steal their boss' kill. Though the few feet he gained dwarfed in comparison to the dark lord's reach. The sharpened tendrils thrashed at him from afar with wild enthusiasm. Logically, dodging or holding his ground was less than likely to succeed. So the weak, injured skeleton did the one thing he could think of: He let his legs fall out from under him and crashed bottom first into the snow, which (just barely) made the deadly appendages miss the most vital parts of his body and earned him a few new cuts along his arms and legs.

Sticky red magic gushed out the fresh wounds and traveled down the cracks in his armor, staining the dark leather with crimson. Dream's blood-splattered scarf fluttered helplessly in the glacial breezes that swept across the town as he attempted to will himself to stand. Alas, to no avail. The pain plaguing his stomach remained strong, leaving his arms and legs shaking and unwieldy, and the sharp wind stung at any open cuts like an angry hornet. Or an entire nest of the foul creatures. Regardless, he continued to struggle - demand the appendages help him stand (and, quite possibly, run away) - and only when another biting spasm shot through his stomach did he quit. Soon, dropping his sword before pulling both arms around the afflicted area; Each leg lying uselessly half under and half in front of the quivering skeleton's injured, hunched over form. If a small whimper escaped without permission, the guardian would allow it just this once.

Soft crunches in the snow were the only indication of Nightmare's advance; Even then, they sounded featherlight and barely audible above the labored wheezing squeaking past his jaws. Dream kept his head low, unable to bring himself to watch the negative being approach. Unable to face whatever sneer or triumphant expression adorned his counterpart's sludge-coated skull.

A deep, familiar voice filled the air when the footfall halted. "I must say I am quite impressed you put up so much of a fight. You're clearly not as out of practice as I thought you would be, given how you have avoided your 'duties' the past year and forgone maintaining a slim figure." The speaker paused a second, adding in a lower, more sinister tone, "A shame it has to end here."

His eye sockets squeezed shut, new tears gathering in the corners and flowing down his yellow-flushed cheeks. This battle may be the end; The conclusion to their century-old war, and possibly the start of a new one. (Assuming Ink cared enough to avenge him.) Such a chilling thought made his blood run cold and a violent shiver jolt down his spine, shaking his whole body. The many wounds marring his form protested at the movement, decreasing his critically low HP by a point or two. And, in turn, reminded him of how greatly his plan failed.

_You are in a corner, Dream. Trapped, low on magic, and with bleeding injuries and a stabbing pain in your gut._

_All while carrying a child._

Fear coiled in his belly as though it was a boa constrictor squeezing at his nonexistent insides, planning to make more room for a permanent residence. The Guardian of Positivity knew the risks all too well, yet foolishly decided to go through with his plan. Alone. At the very least, he could have called for back-up. Cross was out searching for a way to revive his AU, yes, but the swordsman might have been willing to postpone his search for a day or more if Dream asked nicely. And Blue- The bundle of pure, unfiltered energy from Underswap had made his stance on the Council's current position quite clear. Though he and his old friend weren't speaking at the moment (courtesy of Ink), Blue would have helped as well. Probably.

 _I should have left when I had the chance_ , the traitorous corners of Dream's mind added. _Then maybe this whole situation wouldn't have escalated the way it has._

Now the price of Dream's actions could very well be his life and his son's. Meaning: Palette, his precious baby boy, would never grow up to know the feeling of sunlight or a cool autumn breeze, take his first steps, discover his favorite hobbies and explore everything the Multiverse had to offer, or live a full life and start a family of his own one day. All because his mother's idiocy robbed him of the chance.

_No. I can't let that happen.  
_

_Not without one hell of a fight, at least._

He hoisted his head high enough met Nightmare's eyelight with his own. A dark glint whispered frightening tales of the dangerous emotions running through the mind of the monster before him. It certainly didn't help that a smug expression rested on the dark's face while each individual tentacle waved threateningly behind him, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The other's confidence and conceit grew even higher the longer his cyan eyelight bore into Dream's. After all, the eyes were the window to the soul. So the Guardian of Negativity got a rather good taste of the horrid cocktail of emotions swirling in his being- from the tangy bite of fear to the sour notes of despair. All tainted by love, care, and the will to protect. Whether Nightmare believed those feelings were reserved for the Multiverse, Dream did not know nor did he care. One thought gained priority above all others: _escape_.

Desperation gleamed in his eyelights' pale yellow depths as their wobbly pinprick forms frantically darted left and right while looking for an opening. Anything would do. A breach in the enemies' defenses, a simple slip up, the tiniest misstep- _Anything_. Yet, the more Dream observed, the sooner he realized the four scoundrels were not going to give him one. He didn't doubt the possibility that they had planned for a moment like this and planned it well.

If that was the case, then how could he get out of this? And, better yet, was it possible to? A black and white blur sprung to the forefront of the guardian's mind, shifting into an all too familiar skeleton with fluff-laden armor and a bright grin. 

_Cross!_ The armor-clad guardian perked up slightly at the thought, which brought a new question to mind. _What would Cross do?_

 _What would he advise_ me _to do?_


	7. Destruction II

A distant memory surfaced shortly. Infinite islands stretching out into a vast void of warm-colored hues and soft cream clouds, specific sections littered by numerous hanging white paper sheets, and a distinct hint of crayon/paint wafting in the air. Dream could practically picture himself standing there facing Cross.

_The monochrome warrior stood a few feet ahead dressed in full armor, leaning tiredly against the knife-sword buried in the ground in front of him. Dream, his yellow tank-topped and grey-shorted trainee, drooped in place- shoulders sagged and spine as straight as a weeping willow; more than a little too lazy to move. The lump hidden beneath the guardian's shirt barely showed, but the sweat dripping down his skull and staining his clothes was more than enough proof his magical and physical capabilities were hindered by something. Both were flush in the face (purple and yellow respectively) and panting from their most recent activities: sword and attack formation practice. Their efforts evident by the sheer amount of bone attacks and red magic knives adorning the miniature training ground._

_Dream glanced off to the side, admiring the Doodlesphere's unique qualities while catching his breath. Even the less than enjoyable ones. (Why Ink thought flying spaghetti dragons were a neat addition to the Doodlesphere, he would never know.) After several seconds passed, his yellow eyelights drifted back over to Cross, who had since abandoned his position on the other side of the island and begun casually approaching._

_A small smile spread across the weary skeleton's jaws when his mentor came to a halt beside him. An action that the swordsman returned in kind, causing his own smile to widen a fraction further. Despite the long training session, Cross seemed to have mostly recovered; his breath steady and purple flush a mere whisper compared to bright shade it had been moments ago. The knife-shaped blade he wielded found itself returned to his back, securely strapped in place, where it could rest until he decided to call upon its aid once more. Meanwhile, Dream stood there with a discarded short sword next to his feet, cracks splintering down its sides and chips littering the blunt edges. The exact opposite of Cross' pristine blade._

_A minuscule, definitely barely noticeable part of the guardian felt jealous. But solely because he wanted nothing more than to fall on his bed and never get up while Cross was already up and moving again. How did the other manage stretching his invisible muscles after a workout like that? He hardly fathomed doing it. Everything ached- from his metatarsals to everything in between there and his blistered phalanges. And, if Dream didn't know any better, he might even say his_ aches _had_ aches _._

_Suddenly, a hand holding a simple-wrapped chocolate bar appeared under his nose and startled him out of his thoughts. The delicious, sugary delight called to his magic like a siren to a sailboat. Or perhaps his souling's magic? It was rather hard to distinguish who was craving what during the pregnancy thus far. Still, the yellow orbs in the exhausted skeleton's eye sockets were hesitant to trail past the sweet and to the face of his friend._

_"Here. For your HP. I'm sure you need it after the number we did on this poor place." The corners of Cross' eye sockets crinkled in amusement, positive feelings (mirth, happiness, care) swelling in his soul as he voiced the offer._

_A hand shot forward with renewed vigor, snatching up the food item and drawing it to Dream's skull. Then the chocolate disappeared from between the phalanges so quickly that one would need to slow time to watch the split second his incisors/molars parted to witness it vanishing. A light snicker caused the yellow dusting his cheeks to burn brighter. No longer did Cross wear an expression of shock when Dream ate candy, wrapper and all. Instead, amusement seemed to overpower any other feeling about the matter. If not evident by his laughter._

_While Cross tried (unsuccessfully) to stifle the joyous sounds by placing a hand over his teeth, the guardian sputtered a "T-thanks." His eyelights drifted to anywhere other than the warrior's face. Coincidentally, bring him to examine the battle-ruined isle. "But couldn't you have gone easier on me? You know I haven't done anything like this before."_

_"No. It's all apart of training." The answer came out muffled and airy, with a hint of mirth lingering in the background. But Dream could tell the other felt a little remorse for using a full-on Royal Guard training regiment._

_A playful smirk stretched across the guardian's face, quickly being replaced by a faux pout. "That's part where you are supposed to say 'yes' and offer to carry me back to the house so we can eat chocolate ice cream together."_

_The mention of the fluffy armored skeleton's favorite flavor caused excitement to spark in the air. Unfortunately, a taste of urgency and longing ruined the reply. "Heh. Maybe next time, dreamcatcher."_

_"Only if I don't eat all the ice cream first, criss-cross."_

_Cross chuckled at the fake threat, pretending to look offended for a moment before the smile on his face faded into a more serious expression. "All jokes aside, the training_ is _important. It may be rough, yes, but that's the Royal Guard way in my AU, and I don't plan to treat you any different from a fresh cadet- because your opponents won't give you any luxuries in combat. Whether you are pregnant or not, battle is battle, just as war is war. The only thing you have to gain from your current situation is people underestimating you."_

_A hand grasped Dream's sore shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, causing him to lightly flinch while he listened intently to the warrior's words, which drifted into a proud yet teasing tone for the final sentence. "But, for a skeleton who has had no formal combat training prior and has little magic-eating goblin in his belly, I'd say you did well today!"_

_The Guardian of Positivity blinked in response to the praise. "R-really? But the island is a mess, and my weapon got ruined."_

_"Combat practice is messy, and weapons break, dude. You'll have to trust me when I say you did a great job; keep practicing like this, and I am sure you will be as good as me one day." The swordsman absently flicked the discarded sword off the ground with a foot and balanced it on the toes of his boot. He soon followed up by kicking it twelve or more inches in the distance, where it proceeded to crack and shatter upon impact. "Might have to find you a better sword first, though. It wasn't as sturdy as I thought it was."_

_"Thank you. For the training and the vote of confidence."_

_Cross gave a shy chuckle and pulled a hand up to rubbed at the back of his neck. All while the light purple on his skull flared with a new purpose. "It's no problem. Besides, I owe you anyways, and this is the perfect chance to pay off my debt."_

_A frown marred Dream's jaws at the words. "You know you don't owe me anything for that, right? It was the right thing to do. I was happy to help."_

_"I know, I know. I just wanted to do something nice in return. Like combat training..." The sentence trailed off when a loud, repetitive jingle emanated from seemingly nowhere. His friend quickly produced a worn phone from his inventory and grimaced at whatever he saw on its cracked screen._

_"Oof... I suppose this concludes our time for the day."_

_"You're leaving?"_

_"Yeah. There are a few leads I want to check out before nightfall. Plus, I do believe there is a neat little list of errands I need to run for you sitting in my inventory." The other added the last sentence in a playful tone._

_Cross' intense magic sprung to life seconds later and swarmed a little ways away, coming together to form a void-esque rift in the dimension. A sinister feeling exuded from the darkness inside. As his feet began to carry him toward the portal, Dream lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the other's chest, burying his face in the soft white fluff of the armor. Which, regrettably, tickled his nasal cavity. The warrior slowly turned in the hold (inadvertently making the tickling worse), encircling Dream in his own arms once he did a full one-eighty._

_The pair stood unmoving. For a second and then another, until the surrounding silence was broke by a light murmur. "Be safe. Especially if you're planning on traveling to any AUs with high levels of negativity, my brother is probably still looking for you."_

_The Guardian of Positivity felt the limbs squeeze tight around him in response, drawing away soon after. Once the residual warmth vanished, he dropped his arms to his side as well and took a few small steps back._

_"I will. Expect me back sometime in the next few hours, and if I don't return by the time that's passed-" Cross paused, throwing his head back and rising a closed fist to his chest while the other hand rested dramatically across his forehead. "Eat the ice cream without me."_

_Dream faked a gasp. "And deprive you of the wonders of triple chocolaty goodness? Never! I'll save you a bowl."_

_"Heh, alright." A small snicker passed the other's jaws as he shifted to face the portal. "Oh, Don't forget to read the book I gave you; it has some important sections I'd like to incorporate into your next lesson in swordsmanship and combat."_

_"I won't."_

_"Good." Stepping into the inky black depths, Cross shot Dream one last reassuring smile before slipping inside. The portal zipped shut, afterward; closed off whatever ill-treated AU laid beyond it from the Doodlesphere._

_Now Dream was completely alone. And, seeing as the tired skeleton had nothing better to do, he opened his inventory and brought out the medium-sized book given to him earlier in the day. It had a thick black cover with blood-red lettering stretched across the front. His brow lifted at the title:_

_Escape: A Guide to a Warrior's Strategic Withdraw._


End file.
